Aw come on!
by MLaw
Summary: Sometimes Illya feels like he's driving in circles... originally posted for the Song Story challenge on Live e prompt was the Rolling Stones' "Satisfaction." pre-saga


The assignment in Kentucky went...no pun intended, south from the get go. Illya called into headquarters while driving through the small  
and sleepy hamlet of Brownsville to complain the intelligence given them was nothing but a bit of useless information.

They tried finding the address along the main street but to no avail….the number just simply didn't exist.

"I don't know about you chum, but I've had it for the day. Let's get a motel room and we'll start our search again tomorrow?" Napoleon practically pleaded.

It was rare the Russian lost his cool, but after being behind the wheel for countless hours, his patience was at an end.

"You have had it? You? What exactly have you done today but sit in that passenger seat? I have driven hour after hour, gotten out of the car and asked for directions, called into headquarters again and again trying to find this bloody place. Now I have a splitting headache and need a cigarette BUT you do not like the odor of my Turkish blend so I therefore cannot light up in the car!"

"Take it easy chum. You're tired and yes you've done a lot today and don't think I appreciate your hard work. Tomorrow I'll do all the driving, okay?"

"Oooooh no, you drive and get us lost, again? No thank you."

Napoleon was a bit taken aback by his partner's rant. This wasn't like Illya at all. He glanced ahead and spotted a motel, the sign reading "Bowling Green Motel."

"Bowling Green?" Solo blurted out. "We're in the wrong town Illya."

"We are?"

"Yesssss," Napoleon hissed. "You Mister "I never get lost," have us in the wrong town!"

Kuryakin's face turned red with chagrin. "Umm sorry. You must admit it is a rare occasion that I do go astray."

The American flashed him a smug look for once. When it came to his clever partner it was rare he could get the satisfaction of getting one over on the man...but feeling generous, he forgave the obviously peeved Russian.

"Hey it happens. You're tired and cranky, and now I am too. Let's just get the motel room and we can head back to Brownsville in the morning? What do say chum?"

"Fine," Illya grumbled as he pulled into the parking lot. Just as they got out of the car to head to the office...the 'No Vacancy' sign flashed on in bright neon orange letters.

The Russian cursed out loud…"Chyort!" Slamming his fist on the hood of the car, he regretted it instantly and he grabbed his hand; cradling it in silence now.

"Smart move tovarisch." Napoleon took hold of his partner's hand, examining it with a tender touch.

"Nothing broken, but you may need to soak it in some Epsom Salts."

"I want to soak my entire body in mineral salts. May we go? I want to find a hotel before dark if that is possible?"

Napoleon ordered Illya to get into the back seat of the car and just relax.

"Stay there. I'll be right back." He headed into the rental office and ten minutes later he emerged with a key, and a smile on his face. Apparently the clerk accidentally hit the switch for the ' no vacancy' sign.

"Gee Mister, thanks for letting me know. My Pa would have thrown a real fit if he found out."

Napoleon's efforts not only got them their motel room but at a discount too and miracle of miracles...double beds. Two for the price of one; accounting would be pleased about that.

When he returned to the car he found the Russian sound asleep, and hated like hell to wake him, but he couldn't leave him there...not a good idea.

"Hey buddy," he whispered," kneeling outside the open door. "Wake up chum...you can go back to sleep in a nice comfy bed all to yourself for once."

Illya's eyes popped open and he sat up in, instantly awake and his hand going for his weapon.

"Easy there cowboy, whoaaa," Napoleon tried kidding.

"So how many desk clerks did you have to promise to woo in order to get us a room."

"Illya, I'm wounded you'd think such a thing. If you want to know the clerk was a he and said fellow had accidentally hit the switch for the no vacancy sign. Turns out my going in and asking him for a room saved him from getting into trouble….so lo and behold we got a double for the price of a single."

"Wonderful," Illya mumbled sarcastically.

"Hey is that anyway to talk to the man who got you a bed of your own for the night?"

"No, and I apologize...now which room is ours?"

"Number 5," Solo dangled the keys in front of Kuryakin's face.

He promptly snatched them from the American's hand without a word and Solo followed after him with a snicker. It was going to be an 'interesting' evening with one surly Russian...shame the clerk wasn't of the feminine persuasion after all. Napoleon wondered if he could find a bar somewhere…it's not like they were on a complicated mission as it was just reconnaissance this time, no engaging the enemy for once.

.

That was exactly what he did, telling his grumpy friend he was heading out for a drink and wouldn't be late.

"Fine," Illya spoke, his voice muffled as he'd buried his face in his pillow. It was obvious they were getting on each others nerves.

.

It was three in the morning when the Russian's communicator chirped him to consciousness, and glancing across at the other bed he saw Napoleon wasn't there, as the bed coverlet was undisturbed.

"Kuryakin here," he tried not to yawn as he spoke.

"Yes, change of plans young man," Waverly spoke, sounding quite alert and chipper considering what time of the morning it was. Confirming yet again the suspicion, the man just never slept.

"Sir?" Illya sat up straight and was wide awake now.

"You and Mister Solo are to head to Cleveland and there investigate a small satrap, located in a trailer park. It's headed by a female chemist. Her name is Rosalind Light. We're not quite sure what she's up to, but as with T.H.R.U.S.H. one can only imagine.

"Immediately sir?"

"Yes report to me as soon as you have any findings, Waverly out…"

"But…"

It was no use, the signal had been cut off. Illya stretched, trying not to moan. Now he had to find Napoleon….why was nothing easy on this completely unsatisfying assignment?

Illya turned on a radio sitting on a small dresser, just to get the weather report and hopefully some local news.

"Hey there night owls here's the newest release from the Rolling Stones…._I can't get no satisfaction_."

The tired Russian listened as the song began with a driving drum beat and guitar riff as he laid back down in the bed for a moment.

"**I can't get no satisfaction**

_**I can't get no satisfaction**_

_**'Cause I try and I try and I try and I try**_

_**I can't get no, I can't get no**_

_**When I'm drivin' in my car**_

_**And that man comes on the radio**_

_**And he's tellin' me more and more**_

_**About some useless information**_

_**Supposed to fire my imagination**_

_**I can't get no, oh no no no**_

_**Hey hey hey, that's what I say"**_

"You have got that right," Illya mumbled, as he finally crawled from his bed, still dressed in his clothes.

"Open Channel D- Solo." He scratched his head, trying to straighten out his hair, wondering if he'd have time for a shower? Kuryakin's stomach rumbled, adding another concern into the mix...would they be able to stop for some breakfast?

He waited patiently for his partner's reply until he heard Napoleon's coded knock on the door and quickly put his communicator back in his jacket pocket.

The motel room door opened slowly and Solo walked in, looking quite chipper as he'd obviously been drinking.

"We have to leave," Illya coldly announced.

"I heard," the old man called me. So let's get going chum. You drive."

"Me drive? Why not you?"

"As I seem to recall you insisted I not drive because you claim I get us lost," Solo clicked his tongue. "And besides I've had a few drinks so not a good idea."

"Did you not drive the car to wherever it was you went…"

"Noooo, I took a taxi."

Illya huffed. He just couldn't win….what were the words to that song? ' _I can't get no satisfaction_'...apparently not."

"Fine. I will drive but not one word of complaint, and you must stay awake, act as navigator AND not get us lost," Illya grabbed his jacket, heading outside.

When he opened the car door, there was a brown paper sack sitting on the driver's seat; raising his nose and giving a sniff, he smelled food. Specifically sausage.

Napoleon grinned. "I figured you'd be hungry and brought you a couple of sausage and scrambled sandwiches, as well as a large cup of tea made just the way you like it with raspberry jam to sweeten it."

Illya ducked his head in remorse. "Thank you, I appreciate the gesture."

"Well chum it was the least I could do considering you did do all the driving, and will have to do so again for a little bit. Scout's honor, I'll take over once the alcohol has lessened in my system. Deal?"

"Deal," Illya mumbled with a mouthful of sandwich, finally getting some satisfaction after all.


End file.
